From this time, the hand which had ever been ready to supply all our wants real or imaginary, opened less promptly at our demands.  My father talked occasionally of retrenchment and economy when some of our extravagant bills came in; but we paid little heed to his remarks on this head.  Where could we retrench?  In what could we economize?  The very idea was absurd.  We had nothing that others moving in our circle did not have.  Our house and furniture would hardly compare favorably with the houses and furniture of many of our fashionable friends.  We dressed no better—­indeed, not so well as dozens of our acquaintances.  Retrenchment and economy!  I remember laughing with my sisters at the words, and wondering with them what could be coming over our father.  In a half-amused way, we enumerated the various items of imaginary reform, beginning at the annual summer recreations, and ending with our milliner’s bills.  In mock seriousness, we proposed to take the places of cook, chambermaid, and waiter, and thus save these items of expense in the family.  We had quite a merry time over our fancied reforms.

But our father was serious.  Steadily he persisted in what seemed to us a growing penuriousness.  Every demand for money seemed to give him a partial shock, and every dollar that came to us was parted with reluctantly.  All this was something new; but we thought less than we felt about it.  Our father seemed to be getting into a very singular state of mind.

Summer came round—­I shall never forget that summer—­and we commenced making our annual preparations for Saratoga.  Money was, of course, an indispensable prerequisite.  I asked for fifty dollars.

“For what purpose?” inquired my father.

“I haven’t a single dress fit to appear in away from home,” said I.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

I thought the question a strange one, and replied, a little curtly,

“To Saratoga, of course.”

“Oh!” It seemed new to him.  Then he repeated my words, in a questioning kind of a way, as if his mind were not altogether satisfied on the subject.

“To Saratoga?”

“Yes, sir.  To Saratoga.  We always go there.  We shall close the season at Newport this year.”

“Who else is going?” My father’s manner was strange.  I had never seen him just in the mood he then appeared to be.

“Jane is going, of course; and so is Emily.  And we are trying to persuade mother, also.  She didn’t go last year.  Won’t you spend a week or two with us?  Now do say yes.”

My father shook his head at this last proposal, and said, “No, child!” very decidedly.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because I have something of more importance to think about than Saratoga and its fashionable follies.”

“Business! business!” said I, impatiently.  “It is the Moloch, father, to which you sacrifice every social pleasure, every home delight, every good!  Already you have laid health and happiness upon the bloody altars of this false god!”